


Dreaming Change

by KannaOphelia



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Christmas, F/F, Femslash, saffic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-19
Updated: 2010-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-13 19:23:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/140811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KannaOphelia/pseuds/KannaOphelia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of the first lessons Gwen learned, when she went into service, is that the green baize door between servants and family only swings open in one direction. But if Gwen can dream of change in her own life, and if Lady Sybil is so kind and sweet to her, is it foolish to catch herself spending Christmas dreaming of something more?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreaming Change

**Author's Note:**

  * For [morganmuffle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganmuffle/gifts).



One of the first lessons you learned when you came into service was the clear division made by the green baize door. On one side of it was ‘us’ – real life, Gwen thought of it as, all the jumbled lives and secrets of downstairs. On the other side was ‘the family’. It wasn’t as though ‘the family’ was remote, precisely: in a way, life on the servant’s side revolved around that of the family, and the lives and futures of the family was the centre of much lively discussion and interest. But the lives of the family didn’t revolve around the servants in the same way. They might take a kindly, detached interest from time to time, but it wasn’t to be expected of them. As O’Brien never failed to remind them, the family were not their servants’ friends. The green baize door only opened one way.

It wasn’t that Gwen liked it, so much as she knew it was the way things were. Perhaps it was one reason she was determined to escape the life of a maid and make her own life somewhere without divisions.

What no one had told her was how easy it was for the division to tear and tremble in the wind. It didn’t take much – a glowing smile, a loaned outfit, a young lady so soaked in mud and perspiration that for a moment she didn’t seem a young lady at all, but just another girl. Another girl whose foot turned on a stone and who fell, giggling, into Gwen’s arms. A moment away from the Abbey, in which it seemed easy and natural to turn her face down and to receive a kiss.

Just a kiss, that was all. Just something she might have been given by a sister – by Anna. But Gwen’s throat hammered and her palms prickled with sweat in a way that had nothing to do with exertion, and the world changed in ways she didn’t quite understand, as she helped Lady Sybil back to her feet, pulse pounding.

And then the door crashed back into place, and Gwen was left shaken and unsure of herself on the servants’ side.

* * *

“Who would have thought it – Christmas, and Lady Mary still unspoken for?” Mrs Patmore clucked her tongue over her dinner.

“Poor Lady Edith,” said O’Brien. There was a spiteful tweak to her tone that made Gwen suspect that there was pleasure rather than pity in her heart. “And with Lady Sybil coming out next season… well. There’s always one.”

There were murmurs of understanding and agreement. In the usual course of things, an elder sister who was a renowned beauty was not a fatal impairment. Lady Mary could have been expected to have married, or at least reached a firm understanding, well before, leaving Lady Edith with a few seasons in hand to shine without her light being dimmed by her sister. But Lady Mary, for all her reputed charms, remained disconcertingly unattached, and it looked likely that next Season the middle sister would be trapped between her glamorous elder sister and a newly presented younger sister who was as pretty as Lady Mary and twice as sweet, at least in Gwen’s opinion. Poor Lady Edith, indeed, was the assessment of the servants’ hall.

“It’s not easy for her, poor soul,” Anna said, in her gentle way.

“She should have been an heiress,” Thomas said, lazily helping himself to more food. “Neither looks nor charm. It would take a few thousand pounds to sweeten that particular powder. Give her a fortune, though, and I’d gladly take her.”

“I don’t know that I wouldn’t choose to marry Lady Edith over Lady Mary,” Gwen heard herself saying. The heads at the table turned towards her, and she flushed, aware that she had said something odd.

“Do you spend so very much of your time thinking which of the young ladies you’d marry?” Thomas asked sweetly, and Gwen felt the blood heat up under her translucent skin. She dropped her gaze to her food, unable to voice what she had been thinking – that Lady Mary, for all her good looks, would make a cold housemate, while Lady Edith reminded her of a kitten, that would scratch and bite if her fur was ruffled, but would purr and snuggle if stroked the right way. And pretty, in her quiet way, with her red-gold hair and soft face, so different to her elder sister’s stately features and thunderous brows. Much more pleasant to have around the home than Lady Mary. But what was the good of saying so? She lifted some beef to her mouth and chewed and swallowed rather than answer.

Thomas, however, whatever his damnable instincts, had scented blood. His tones became even more honeyed. “But would our dear Edith really be your first choice, Gwen? I had suspected otherwise…”

The blush came even hotter now. It took all Gwen’s efforts to hold his gaze and smile contemptuously, her skin burning and her soul writhing within her. The memory of that stolen kiss came so clearly into her mind and heart that it felt for a moment as if everyone at the table could see it – but most of all Thomas. Gwen was aware of the rumours about him, although her imagination failed at the details. Thomas stepped beyond the green baize door with some of the gentlemen, and Gwen, if she didn’t know quite what he did, knew it was something corrupt, something dirty and exploitable. If he knew about the soft pressure of Lady Sybil’s lips on hers, it would become – like him. Wrong. Spoiled.

He was grinning at her now, satisfied malice radiating from him. He had found his mark. But he couldn’t hurt her. The memory was hers, and hers alone.

She made the smile come to her lips. “Just wondering which of the young ladies will be wed first. Lady Edith might surprise us all.”

* * *

Gwen snuggled down under the covers, trying vainly to stay warm. She pushed her toes against the heat of the bricks, and wished that she and Anna shared a bed rather than just a room. At home, Gwen had never shared her bed with less than two sisters, and in the bitterness of Christmas, she longed desperately for the comfort of soft female bodies cuddled against her. She felt homesick and a little depressed and… trapped. It had been a long time since she had even seen a suitable position advertised, and Lady Sybil had been nothing but a vague presence in the house lately, as far away as if she had been on the moon.

“I should hate it, doing nothing but trying to charm men at the dinner table and the hunt, not even trying to make my own fate.” She was surprised at the bitterness of her own tone.

“There’s not much else for them,” Anna, ever gentle and tolerant, tried to explain. “If they don’t find a suitable husband – well, what could they do with themselves?”

Gwen tried to be properly sympathetic. But the thought crept into her mind that she had risen from her bed at four that morning, her breath making puffs of steam in their little cold room, and chafed her aching fingers together to make them limber enough to steal an hour’s typewriting practice before starting her duties for the day. And really, what terrible fate awaited the young ladies if they failed to find the right husbands? Matthew Crawley would not see his cousins starve, or reduced to earning their own livings, for that matter. Life for the young Edith would continue to consist of parties, of lovely dresses, of delicious meals brought to her at table by people she barely acknowledged. But not by Gwen. She held on to the thin stream of her ambition as comfort, and tried not to think of the long months of dwindling hope.

She tried to say something of that, and Anna laughed and sighed at once. “They’re not brought up to earn a living,” she said. “No one ever quite realizes how hard it is for them.”

Gwen laughed and sighed at that, herself. Anna, of course, saw the young ladies as her own special provenance, and loved them dearly. But it occurred to Gwen, treacherously, that while Lady Mary or Lady Edith might chafe at a fate that relegated them to chasing men for support, only one of the sisters was likely to have it in her to do anything about it.

“Maybe they should try,” she said, quietly and stubbornly.

“Oh, Gwen.” Anna snuggled deeper into her covers, trying to escape the cold. “Is it such a bad thing, for them to want futures of their own? Aren’t you afraid, yourself, of being an old woman, all alone, having never had a husband and children?” Her voice was a little sad, and Gwen wished she could reach across and comfort her. “It’s a hard thing, to look back on your life with regrets.”

“There are things I want, that I’ll regret if I don’t have them,” Gwen said softly, thinking of the typewriter stowed high above the wardrobe. “But I don’t know if a husband is one of them.”

“Do you never want to be held and loved? To have someone to your own self?” Anna’s dreams were so clear in her own voice that they hurt Gwen.

“I…” Gwen hesitated. “I do want to be loved,” she said, but somehow a vision of a husband wouldn’t come clear in her head. She reached down inside herself, and found a desire to be held, to be kissed, but when she tried to give a face or a hard male form to it, it seemed unreal, and slipped away. She laughed with frustration. “Maybe I just haven’t met the right one yet.”

“When you do, I wish you an easy romance,” Anna said, and Gwen forgot her own vague longings for the unspoken pity of it. They didn’t speak of the young ladies again that night.

As sleep came to meet her, though, Gwen found herself wondering how much of loving or holding was in the young ladies’ dreams. And, unbidden, the memory returned, of Sybil laughing and mud-splattered in her arms, the softness and unexpected firmness of her mouth.

* * *

Lady Edith surveyed herself in her mirror, her mouth puckered at the corners as she turned back and forth. She was wearing Nile green, encrusted with beads, jewels around her neck, her red curls caught back in a glittering band. With the long graceful lines of her dress and her hair styled like that, Lady Edith looked to Gwen like an engraving she had once seen of a lady of Napoleon’s court. She felt a twinge herself: what would it be like to be arrayed like that for Christmas, shimmering in the candlelight? She had worn Lady Sybil’s day clothes once, to be sure, but to be decked out in Christmas evening finery like that – Gwen could only imagine what it would be like to see herself reflected back in silk and jewels.

It was not usually Gwen’s job to help the young ladies dress for dinner. But this was a special dinner, and O’Brien and Anna were fully occupied with the Countess and Lady Mary, as befitted seniority. Lady Edith and Lady Sybil had been relegated to Gwen’s care, and Gwen suspected that Lady Edith was not best pleased with the arrangement. After all, in the part of Gwen’s secret soul that was never quite as respectful as it should be, everyone agreed that Lady Edith was the one who needed all the help she could get.

It was no wonder, really, that Lady Edith approached dressing for a Christmas Eve dinner with friends of the family as a kind of military campaign. There would be at least a couple of eligible gentlemen there, and attachments were not only formed during the Season.

The young lady turned slowly back and forth, showing only displeasure in her reflection. “It will have to do,” she said tightly, and turned away. Gwen took that as her dismissal, and hurried towards Lady Sybil.

“It’s not her fault,” Anna had said, when Gwen had once expressed bewilderment at Lady Edith’s discontent. “It’s not easy for her, poor soul. With Lady Sybil coming out next season…”

Gwen just wished that Lady Edith had shown herself a little more grateful – if not to her, then to the fate that gave her gowns like that.

She fled with relief and something taut and anticipatory in the pit of her stomach to Lady Sybil’s rooms. She knew there would be friendly smiles there – Lady Sybil always had a smile for everyone, no matter who, and there was no doubt that their adventures together had created a bond – and she longed for smiles after Lady Edith’s sullen discontent. To be quite honest she longed to see Lady Sybil for any reason, and always did, but there was no sense brooding on that. Lady Sybil was very kind to a housemaid of her own age, that was all. It was very charming condescension to the less fortunate from such a well-born young lady.

Gwen forgot all her stern self-lecturing the moment Sybil turned from her dressing table to greet her. There was no sense of condescension in her clear pleasure.

“I’m so glad to see you again, Gwen!” Sybil’s smiles had the trick of lighting up her whole face. “It seems such ages since we’ve spoken. I am determined to sound out all the guests to see if any have a vacancy for you.”

“Oh –“ Gwen bit her lip at the hopelessness of it, and at the prettiness of Sybil when she was enthusiastic. She thought about arguing, but just smiled instead. “Thank you, my lady.”

Sybil kept up her chattering as Gwen helped her into her dress – no daring pantaloons this time, something white and simple that Gwen suspected was to mark her out as too young to consider next to her sisters. She looked lovely in it, with her soft shining dark hair and animated face, lovely enough, Gwen suspected, to outshine either of the others. She leaned down to finish arranging Sybil’s dark hair, and felt her wrist caught in a soft grip.

“Why are you so quiet, Gwen?” Her face was lifted to Gwen’s again, laughing and sweet, and the poignancy of the memory hurt. “Is anything wrong?”

“No, my lady.”

“There is!”” Sybil frowned with concern. Oh, you can tell me. Are we not friends?””

Gwen could hear O’Brien’s voice in her ears, telling her that the young ladies were not their friends; and something else, Thomas with his ugly warning smile, the warning of what happened when the green baize door was ignored. It seemed impossible to associate Sybil’s open, innocent face with such corruption, but then, that was the danger – white snow was easily reduced to ugly slush if trodden on unwarily.

“Are we truly friends, then?” she asked, unsteadily.

“Why, I thought so!” Sybil’s voice was bright, but her own gaze was now uncertain, her large eyes tinged with hurt. “Surely no one could go through such adventures and not come out friends at the end of it.”

“My lady, I’m just a housemaid.” Her voice came thickly between her lips.

“Not just a housemaid, never say that! And not for long in any case, if I have my way. Why, Gwen – you’re crying. Don’t cry. I’ll have no tears at Christmas.”

Gwen found herself drawn close and held, as simply as Anna would hold her if she was crying, but the dress enclosing the form pressed against her cost more than her parents’ lodgings and it was different, so different. The tears came shaking and painful, and she let herself be cradled and petted.

“Please tell me what’s wrong,” Sybil said eventually, sounding soft and bewildered. ‘”I’ll put it right, if only I can. But you must tell me.”

“’Just a housemaid,” she repeated. “And you’ll be out soon, and you’ll find a husband, and I’ll never see you again, and I’ll just go on being a maid…”

“Nonsense! You’re not just a housemaid, and I won’t let you give up on your dream. It’s my dream too, remember.“

“Why is it so important to you?” Gwen choked.

“Because – oh, things are changing, Gwen. For everyone. And if you can find your dream, then maybe there’s something for me, too. More than a husband, I mean. If my friends succeed, then maybe I can, too.”

“How can you be friends with a housemaid?”

Sybil shrugged. “Why shouldn’t I?”

Gwen couldn’t find the words. The green baize door – well, perhaps Sybil could ignore it, at her pleasure and when she chose. But from Gwen’s point of view, it wasn’t something that could ever be changed.

“I understand.” Sybil raised her chin. “Well, then. You’ll see. When you’re a professional woman, perhaps you’ll let an old friend call on you, then. Or perhaps…”

Her voice trailed away, then she lifted her face again, and her kiss was on Gwen’s lips, sweet and bewildering. Gwen hesitated then, for a moment only, let herself surrender to impossible dreams.

She pulled away at last, flushed and bewildered, and saw the colour high in Sybil’s face, too.

“I’m sorry, Gwen. I don’t know what I meant by it. But – you will be my friend?” Her voice was soft, and pleading, too. It didn’t make sense, for Lady Sybil, who was so pretty and beloved by all, to be pleading for her friendship.

“Of course,” she managed.

Sybil’s eyes shone. “That’s right! Oh – I’m going to be late. But I hoped to see you.” Her tone became confidential. “I have a Christmas gift for you, you see.”

“A gift? For me?”

Sybil got up and, her manner as secretive as a child with a hidden toy, withdrew a small parcel from behind the mirror. “There! Promise me you won’t open it until midnight?”

“I promise.”

Sybil smiled, and then, with a quick, darting movement, dropped a kiss on Gwen’s cheek. “I must go down. Merry Christmas, Gwen, dear.”

“Merry Christmas, Lady Sybil,” Gwen said softly.

She stayed very still for a moment after Sybil had left, then made her own way - back to the green baize door. Christmas, for servants, was about work, and the family’s parties, not their own.

* * *

Later that night, once Anna’s breath had become slow and regular, Gwen pulled the parcel out of where she had secreted it under the bed. She couldn’t see in the dim light, but she divested it of wrappings by feel, and let her fingers roam over it, seeking out its shape.

A pen. One more expensive than she ever could have afforded, she supposed. A pen meant to belong to a woman with a good office job, not a housemaid.

A woman who worked in an office, a woman who had been a housemaid, was no more a fit friend for Lady Sybil than one of the servants. Not a fit friend… certainly not fit for, well, whatever else it was she felt when she was close to the young lady. She was not even sure what the diffuse longings were, only that she wanted to hold and be held and kiss and be kissed, and that it was all impossible. Even if she left the Abbey.

But at least, if Gwen worked in an office, there would be no green baize door between them.

It was Christmas. For Christmas, and for Christmas only, miracles seemed possible. For Christmas, it was permissible to dream secret dreams.

Gwen closed her eyes against the darkness, and dreamed.


End file.
